


The Death of a King

by Erulissë (NanaAdder)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, I'm gonna cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 12:46:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18223340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NanaAdder/pseuds/Eruliss%C3%AB
Summary: AU prompt where it's Turgon who jumps in front of Eöls javelin, written from the perspective of others.





	The Death of a King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kara_Eclipse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kara_Eclipse/gifts).



> Prompt "What if instead of Eol hitting Aredhel with the poisoned javelin he hit Turgon?" -- so here I am. Writing it.

Aredhel couldn't take her eyes away from Eöl, every fiber of her being screaming danger, and that he shouldn't be trusted in these halls. She knew him well, too well it might be stated, for years of being his prisoner had left its mark upon her. She knew better than to think he was here for peace.

In fact, she had the deep rooted suspicion he was here to kill her. He'd threatened it many times if she should leave him, why should she think anything else.

She looked to Lómion, who had taken a place beside her brother, a boy still, who had warned her this day would come. Why didn't she listen? She could have saved Turgon this trouble if she'd never come to Gondolin...

Turgon. Ah, what patience he had in this moment. To offer an olive branch to Eöl who was so undeserving of it. She wished she'd had told him the circumstances of their relationship to the full before this moment, perhaps he would have had Eöl killed on sight-- she stopped herself. Turgon was no longer a kinslayer.

There was something in Eöls eyes when the choice was offered, a harsh glare of malice and madness as he was denied his wife first and then his son. He turned his dark eyes to her with a look that she had long connected with danger, his smile unnerving before he addressed Turgon with a mighty shout, screaming he would take back what was his.

His movements were quick, and Aredhel barely had time to register them before they happened, the small javelin Eöl always kept with him --why in all of Arda was he allowed to bring that in?-- sailing in the air in a matter of seconds. Toward Lómion.

Of course he would, Lómion was her life, the one she'd stayed upon this plane for for years. What better way to exact his vengeance?

She moved, but stopped dead in her track as she realized it was too late for her intervention. The javelin had hit its mark.

And Turgon had been faster in reaction. 

* * *

 

Glorfindel stared at the scene in shock, his cousins robes quickly staining with red as Aredhel and Idril screamed, the former crossing the distance between herself and her brother cradling him in her arms as the red stain quickly spread to her white dress. He turned his head, Ecthelion matching his expression, though anger quickly clouded his eyes as he turned his wrathful gaze toward their _guest--_

He couldn't blame Ecthelion, neither of them were kinslayers, but in this moment he was fairly certain they might become so. Turgon was Ecthelions closest friend beside himself, but they had been forced to watch, helplessly, as Turgon had been struck with the weapon this _guest_ had brought. Another point of anger for his friend, he was sure: that he had somehow missed the javelin in his stripping of the Dark Elfs weapons.

Everything moved in slow motion as Glorfindel watched Duilin and Idril stoop down Turgon, Idril likely trying to save him to the best of her ability. Poor child. She'd already lost her mother, must Mandos take her father as well?

The _guest_ seemed to recover from his shock before they did, the realization that he'd killed an enemy he'd long hated finally sinking in. And looking to his guards, he smirked.

And in that one action, he pushed Glorfindels gentle nature over the edge.

* * *

 

Calm. Precise. Idrils logical mind had acted the moment after she saw the javelin pierce her father's body. She was a healer, the most qualified to help him in this moment, the most determined at the very least. First she had estimated the damage, the javelin had done its job in sinking into his body, though it seemed it was in a location that hadn't hit any major organs. His most likely cause of death would be bleeding out if she didn't act in a rational manner. 

Ashout drew Idrils attention away from her father for only a moment, the reality of the situation seeming to have finally crashed into the room as she watched Glorfindel be pulled off a now-bleeding Eöl by Rog as Egalmoth distanced the dark elf from the other lords who clearly wished to do some damage. A stray thought mused that they should let Glorfindel finish since he was the only one who had actually acted.

But it was not her problem right now.

Her aunt wept, what little was likely left of her having cracked just that much more. Her father tried to comfort her despite his current situation, telling her that he would be fine-- he needed better care, the room was full of tension which Idril could feel pressing upon her. She could not think fully in this situation.

A question in her mind rose up, wondering why it was that she was not weeping as well. She loved her father dearly, there was a pain in her chest at the very thought that she could not save him. But the answer followed softly and swiftly: tears would not do him good right now.

Later there would be time for tears, either in relief that he would survive this, or sorrow that he would not.

That being said, she turned to Duilin. "We need to move him to the healing wing." The elf lord nodded, and motioning to the nearby Elemmakil and together they gently pried Turgon from Aredhels grasp, the larger guard gathering the king into his arms to carry him out. Aredhel followed closely, still weeping as Duilin tried to assure her he would be alright.

As Idril followed, her heart was heavy, as if it knew that what Duilin said was far from truth. Her gaze returned once more to look the room over when she reached the doors, she saw her young cousin picking up his father's cloak and rummaging through it with a dazed look. She wasn't surprised. To come so close to death, only to have another take your place must have shaken him.

She'd have to check on him later. She doubted her aunt would be a good state to do so herself. Turning away, she hurried to the healing wing and prayed that there would be no complications.

* * *

 

 When the next morning rose, the king was dead. Not from the injury itself, for Idril had healed it most carefully, but from the poison which had coated the javelin which Eöl bore. No antidote could be found, and the dark elf refused to give any information concerning one.

Turgon was dead.

Aredhel was inconsolable.

Glorfindel refused to speak to anyone.

Idril wept alone.

When the guards went to retrieve Eöl for a trial being held by Ecthelion, they found him dead, a silver dagger embedded in his heart the report saying that the guards had heard him cry out in the night but paid him no heed.

And Gondolin, mighty and strong, grieved the loss of a beloved king.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Willing Sacrifice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18249311) by [Kara_Eclipse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kara_Eclipse/pseuds/Kara_Eclipse)




End file.
